Thursday, 17 April 2014

eighteen

lucky country blues.

if it wasn't for the fascists
and the spiders 
and the flies,
if it wasn't for the desert
and the floods
and the climate change deniers,
if it wasn't for the borders
and our racists
and the cultural cringe,
if it wasn't for the wholesale
sell off of our natural resources
and the spiders
and the flies
and the fascists
and the destabilisation
of our way of life by
the corporate money whores
that have infected our land
like herpes... 


seventeen.

fan mail for daniel.

if i painted you a picture
i'd use lots of black paint
and red, & brown
because life is shit.
i'd use a fat brush
and lots of strokes
to show i know you are complex,
made up of many parts.

if i sang you a song
i couldn't sing in tune
i wouldn't need to.
i'd just have to yell a lot
with passion, to sound like
that nihilistic shit you listen to.

i have written stories for you
sunk low then lower to impress you, 
tattooed your name on my arse.
- your loyalty drags us all along
you and your crew, we rise and fall together.

you are my brother from another mother,
you are strong like ten men
and stunted like a puppy runt.
you are clever like a dictionary
and feral as a fine porn mag.

zen brother, big brother, drunk brother
you taught me men can 
feel and listen, every day
you help me find
the middle way...
      it's just between fuck up lane
      and fuck you avenue.

it's in our blood brother
to travel on dreams
and trade in the romance
of the road.

sixteen

before sunrise
there is a serenity
and no confusion.
i wake
absorbing the calm,
walk outside where
the nightbirds are losing
their melancholia.

the air 
is harder to breathe
because everything good
must be fought for.
the atmosphere
touches my skin
as the sky lightens
and opens an embrace
to the potential.

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

fifteen

closing in on paranoia
within this dystopian vista
there must be hope,
or there wouldn't be
anyone left standing.
we all roll the dice
whether we're gamblers
or not and some days
it's a battle to leave
the house,
the room,
your arms.
shadows skew my clothes
tho my outlines are
always flattering.
i could live here.
i'm not sure which way
is healthier, 
but i do know that
without an interconnection,
without the gamble
and the fear
and the hope
then we are all parasites.



Monday, 14 April 2014

fourteen

deciding to embrace mediocrity
as a step out of the void
i write a pome
it will not be full of insight
right now
i am a shallow puddle
place my fantasies
in the hands of strangers
i remain in the cave
i never promised you...
anything.

i do have dreams of my own
diary entries in tattered suitcases
if my life really were
a car accident
then i probably look away
so where do i stand?
or sit?
at your notebooks
a voice whispers
at your notebooks.

Saturday, 12 April 2014

thirteen

with a blindfold on 
we can quench our
other senses in 
a sublime cynicism
that will rub you up
the right way and
the wrong way.

the whole darkness has
consumed our electricity
to elevate our 
esoteric activities.

the mercies you seek
must be fought for,
muscles must rip and
beasts must bay at the moon
before this is finished.

there comes a point of 
tipping and i was rapidly
reaching for it, like
i reach for the branches
of really tall trees,
like i reach for the stars.

st. vitus dances
on my spine as our loins
explode with truth serum and
clarity comes in the arms
of the fireworks that extend
into the sky.

twelve

the moon knows my phases
i show her my many faces
and she reads them all.
she is not active like my mother
slow moving through the sky
and i, drinking tea
in the moonlight
rely on both their counsel.
i love her with a varying intensity,
her song has no title and no tune
yet i still find myself writing nightly 
in her glow.

the sun on the other hand
has less compassion and
offers more comfort.
i am here with the ants
jostling for her attention
the way i did with my father
back through the times i'd
rather forget but instead of regret
i channel the energy to
keep the pen moving.
escaping anything in the sunshine
and wishing on the wind.